#I DUNNO MAN

[gholateg]

Jason in his old room in the Mansion, covered in bandages, smelling the antiseptic and twitching at the dull beep beep beep of the medical equipment.

He can't *believe* he let Bruce take him home-here. Take him here.

Jason hears the knob turning on the door and his hackles rise, he tenses to try and get up, but his muscles betray him, so he shudders back down into the white cotton sheets.

"Really Master Jason, you should know better then to try and move with those wounds." tuts Alfred, wheeling in a tray of food and fresh linen bandages. "I thought I taught you better at least..."

Jason blinks, and tries to hide his reaction at seeing the old man again. Of course he fails utterly at it, but Alfred has been an old hand at pretending not to see his boy's cry.

"I've told Master Bruce that he's barred from the premises until you wish to see him."

"I don't WANT to see him Alfr-"

"Take that tone with me again my lad, and I'll restitch those wounds with iodine soaked sutures once you pop them. Again."

On one hand, I love a Jason that gets seriously injured and turns into a scared dog. *Mwah*, chef's kiss, 10/10.

On the other hand, I love a Jason that gets seriously injured and reverts back to his younger self.

Jason, seriously hurt, pointing one of his guns at Bruce: “Don't come any fuckin' closer! You just get yer ass out of here, I don't need yer damn help.. I never want yer help with anything ever again..”

Then you get a Bruce that has to try and calm the dog. That sits at the end of the alley a comfortable distance away and waits for his boy to come back to him. Holds his hand out and waits for the dog to inevitably give in and let Bruce take care of him.

BUT ALSO

Jason, slowly bleeding out on the floor of a random warehouse: “...”

Bruce, who just so happened to be busting the same criminals and probably just saved Jason's life: “..Jay?”

Jason, sounding like he's tearing up behind his helmet: “..I wanna go home now, dad..”

Bruce: “..Okay, Chum. We'll go home now. I'll take care of you.”

GRGGGHHHHH I WANT TO SQUEEZE THEM AND SHAKE THEM ALL AROUND

[wuekka]

Something about Jayce kneeling in front of Viktor is so vulnerable, worshiping and I don't mean sexual. Like a knight bowing to a king. Reverence. Jayce showing vulnerability and showering Viktor with admiration like that is such a good thing in fanart.

[thechaoticcheese]

So I was looking up Roach's eye color (y'all getting some Shadow Roach AU soon I promise), when I saw a drawing of Roach x Gaz, and I was like ????? I didn't think Gaz was in the original.

He was. He just looks super fucking different.

I am not complaining I'm just wondering why Gaz seems to be the only one out of 141 who seems to be just entirely different(we don't count Shephard cause fuck him). Like I didn't expect 09 Gaz to look the way he does, if anything 09 reminds me of Reboot Alex...

Again not complaining, but in the fanart Roach was drawn with Reboot Gaz and I just... It don't make sense but hey, if it makes ya happy it makes ya happy. Just gotta... Add another ship into the shipping box...

[maanmelk]

So like...cyberpunk batman?

[annonnex]

Uhuhu i actually tried to draw Sebastian this time(still he looks kinda off to me but like whatever)

[theroundbartable]

Arthur: my servant touched me

Geoffrey: Sire, there is no need for you to worry. There are several law books on how to sack a servant, even if he was promoted for saving your life

Arthur: no

Arthur: you don't understand

Arthur: I need more

Geoffrey: ... Sire, there is no need for you to worry. There are several books on master servant erotica available, requested by several of your ancestors.

Arthur: that's my man

[sharkgirldick]

Nice neopronouns. What positions would you like me to take you in?

[monkeybebop]

Jesse Pinkman come home the kids miss u…

[ancunincurator]

It just dawned on me that Astarion's confession after killing Yurgir doesn't simply come from a sense of gratitude that you helped him, but from the realisation that his plan is working and yet he doesn't feel good about it at all.

Not only doesn't feel good, but to quote Astarion himself, he feels awful about it.

Imagine how it must feel for real romantic feelings to weave their way between cold-hearted habits, instincts, imprinted across 200 years. Forming cracks in the wall he built to keep any unuseful emotionss away. And instead of reinforcing the baricade, he decides to tell you how he feels, willing to let it crumble away peice by piece.

Which is why, perhaps, the confession post-Araj can feel a little less sentimental. Because it's more a reflection of how Astarion sees himself than a reflection of how Astarion sees you.

Just a thought...

[hyperfixiation-station]

Ex-soldier!reader who nannies Ghosts kidd while he's away on missions. Who notice people who have never been on theirhis street before out and about. Who gets his kid out of the house just before it blows up. Who goes on the run with the kid while Ghosts enemies hunt them down. Who is injured and solely focused on keeping the kid alive. Who makes it to the safe house Ghost gave them "just in case". Who pistol-whips Soap when he shows up. Who almsot cries when the kid screams daddy as Ghost walks in behind Soap. Who resists the urge to run unto his arms just like his kid did. Who end up in them anyways when they collapse from exhaustion and stress.

Who finally gets a kiss when they wake up in the medbay.

[spheresr4cubes]

Rereading again for peak brother interactions: Brother's Blood, by @alicewritingstories

[xyfanficarchive]

returning the favour

Mouthwashing - Jimmy x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Jimmy calls upon you to care for him after you infected him.

Content warnings: fluff, Jimmy, he’s too sick to be much of a bitch in this one.

i wrote this directly in the post editor because im still fucking sick. and sickness is just on my mind. i think he would be adorably pathetic if he were sick. anyways enjoy <3

After the click of the deadbolt unlocking, you opened the door and met with Jimmy’s face- pale and colourless save for the feverish splotches across his cheeks, all chapped lips and puffy, watery eyes, scruffy beard even scruffier than usual. A ratty, well-worn comforter wrapped around his slumped shoulders. His hand retreated underneath to clutch the loose edge closed again as he turned away from the door, went back towards his couch, the slow shuffling gait of an old man with back pain.

“Look at wh-” He started, voice deep, clogged and croaky, but the words caught in his throat swiftly and he devolved into a deluge of coughs, dry and painful sounding. By the third time he tried catching his breath only to start hacking again, you dropped your bags and went to his side, rubbing his back as he doubled over, as his whole body heaved with each attempted expulsion. Though there was nothing to expel from his lungs, you knew that well enough, having gone through the same thing the week before.

“Relax, Jim, relax. Try to breathe slow. It’s that tickle in your throat, huh? It’s awful, I know.” Your own voice was still a little raspy, still recovering from your own week of hell. He caught hold of his breath, each respiration shaky. You felt him tense underneath your hand again but he stopped, wrestling down the autonomous instinct to cough.

“Look at what you’ve done to me…” He moaned at last, soft and weak, and gave a thick sniff through his nose as he stood up, turning his red-rimmed gaze to you. A look of betrayal playing on his face.

“Oh…” You intoned in mock insult, but softened. “Okay. I take full responsibility. But I’m here now to help. Go sit down.” You waved him over to the couch and he flopped down, slumped over on his side and curled up under the blanket, knees to his chest. You shed your outerwear, hanging your jacket on the hook and lining your boots up neatly on the tray. He groaned as you went to bring the bags closer to the couch.

��I’m freezing… I can’t get warm,” he mumbled. “And I’ve never ached so bad in my fuckin’ life…”

“I’ve got you some medicine, don’t worry.” You rifled through the bag, and placed a rattling bottle of Advil and the same bottle of NyQuil he had brought you, now half empty, side by side on the coffee table. “Advil will help with the aches, the NyQuil is for everything else. Let me go get you a glass of water.”

You got up and headed to his kitchen, bringing the crinkling brown paper bag with you, the savoury smell of fried food wafting about. “Are you hungry, Jimmy?”

“No… But I know I should eat. I haven’t really had anything today.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a little plate. You should have something if you’re taking ibuprofen anyways.” After placing the bag on the counter, you opened it, staples tearing strips out as you recalled his feeble voice over the phone: “…and could you go to the fried chicken place? With the good mac and cheese… And fries, and coleslaw.”

You smiled with warm affection, how cute he could be without even meaning it. This was definitely less nutritious than his soup he had so graciously made for you, but it was calorie dense, at least. You took a glass and a plate, and a fork from his cupboards and spooned out a small portion of everything, selecting a prime piece of chicken, and filled the glass with water from the tap. Then, brought both back to the living area, setting them down in front of him.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. He was sat upright now, shivering under his blanket. He had poured himself a dose of the cough syrup and knocked it back with expert skill. Opened the Advil and shook out two little reddish brown pills, swallowed them down with a sip of water.

You went back to your bags, pulled out a big rolled up blanket, and unfurled it, the electric cord hanging from the corner falling to the ground with a plastic thud. “I went and dug my electric blanket out of storage, just for you,” you sang with a grin.

All folded in on himself, pale and clammy, with dark bags under his eyes, he looked so small sitting there, listlessly eating from his plate. It tugged at your heart. “Aww, you look terrible,” you kissed his messy hair as you wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, taking the cord and plugging it into the wall socket next to the couch.

“Thanks, babe. You looked fresh as a spring rose when you were all snotty, hacking your lungs out,” he muttered sarcastically through a mouthful of food, while he took the control for the blanket and clicked it up to high.

You just smiled, gently scratched his scalp with your fingers as you passed by on your way back to the kitchen. “I’m gonna make myself a plate. Hang in there, Jim.” He just hummed. You heard him flicking through channels on the TV behind you as you walked away. Coughed a little, though not as intense as he had when you came in.

When you came back, there was some documentary playing low, and Jimmy was laid down, curled and trembling under the heated blanket, eyes shut, shuddering breaths passing his lips. His plate was abandoned, half eaten on the coffee table, though he had drank the water down. The only free space was at the end of the couch by his feet, so that’s where you sat. Jimmy stretched his leg out, just enough to make contact with the sole of his foot to your thigh. You pulled the edge of the blanket over to cover him and keep his body heat in. Then you started eating, half-watching the documentary that you couldn’t really hear, time punctuated by the occasional cough or groan coming from him at the other end of the couch.

When you were finished, you got up, and Jimmy’s legs retreated back further under the blanket with a low whine. You took both plates and his glass and went to the kitchen, scraping the leftovers into the trash before leaving the plates in the sink. You refilled his glass and returned to the living area.

“…I’m really cold… and it hurts so bad…” Jimmy whimpered, eyes still closed, and you pouted, feeling so sorry for him as you looked down. You set the glass down, and pressed your palm to his forehead.

“Hopefully the meds kick in soon. You’re burning up.”

“Yeah I bet,” he murmured as your palm went from assessing his temperature to caressing his face. You moved to sit back down where you were before, but he stopped you. “Wait- c’mere,” he looked up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. “I want- I need your body warmth…” He pleaded. He sounded so sweet when he pleaded with you.

“You want me to cuddle with you?” You asked in clarification.

“…Yeah…”

“Alright, Jim. Let me in then,” you agreed. It wasn’t a hard choice. “Sheesh, and the way you fought against cuddling me…” You teased in false hurt.

“I hadn’t been sick with what you had yet. But you’ve already been sick with what I got now, so it doesn’t matter,” he lifted the blanket with his one arm and hissed through his teeth, shuddering with the other arm pressed close to his chest while you crawled underneath. You pressed your body face to face with his. He dropped the blanket over you and drew that arm in close to him, crossing them between your bodies for as much warmth as he could. You moved your own arm, prompting him to lift his head so you could slip it underneath and cradle him in your arms. You rubbed soothing circles into his back and he sighed, still trembling slightly in your embrace.

You bent your neck down to kiss him on the forehead, giving little scratches on his scalp through his hair. “You’re gonna get all sweaty and then I’ll get sweaty,” you complained, light and unserious.

“Worth it.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I’m always worth it, aren’t I, darlin’?” He mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion.

You sighed. “Can’t argue with that.” Certainly it was worth it, at least to be the one holding him in your arms instead of the other way around. Jimmy didn’t like to feel weak, or small like that. It was a precious, rare moment for him to let himself be held, cradled and comforted so softly while he curled up and pressed himself close to your warmth. “You are worth it, Jimmy.” You kissed his forehead again, and he only hummed in response.

It was nice. He rubbed his leg against yours, up and down, and gradually his shivering stopped, all while you caressed his back and his hair. His body relaxed against yours, his breathing gradually slowing until you could tell he was asleep.

Your heart softened, an aching outpouring of love flooding through your chest. “I love you, Jim,” you whispered, and closed your eyes. Not much else to do here but sleep along with him, and wait for him to wake up, damp and scrambling to cool down in the open air. But you were perfectly content to lay with him until that moment came.

[blobee]

Explodes (me)

[toxi-works-at-culvers]

the evil of ignorance

dtiys for @glitch-1983 :)

[isogenderskitty]

can we please talk about steph having a bigger body type than the rest of the cast & yet even in a show centred around the theme of bullying it's never so much as pointed out let alone mocked & she's universally regarded by other characters (and a large portion of the audience, from what i've seen including me) as cool and sexy. because it means a lot to me actually

[lifenconcepts]

BRO.. IM A MUSKRAT THERIAN?! Naahhh 😿 you mean I’m this bastard?! /aff …..wet beast…

Augdsghhsh wyd if I pull up to your place and stare at you like this

NAH THIS PAL AT FLICKR GOT SOME BEEF WITH MUSKRATS!???!!

😿 Ik I’ve just been verbally abusing them but they don’t deserve that! They’re beautiful… rats are also beautiful..